


the world is lazy

by frausorge



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, San Jose Sharks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7176635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frausorge/pseuds/frausorge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe Thornton- Joe, of all people- is coming to the Sharks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the world is lazy

**Author's Note:**

> Set in November and December 2005. Title from Best Coast.

They get the news in Dallas: Stuie, Wayne, and Marco gone to Boston, and Joe Thornton- Joe, of all people- coming to the Sharks in their place. The whole room goes momentarily quiet. When Ron looks over to him, Pat blinks and makes himself smile. If he takes an extra deep breath or two after that, it's lost in the noise as the guys erupt into questions.

They won't have Joe yet against the Stars, obviously, but he'll meet them in Buffalo, and they'll have a day or two to practice together and get used to each other. That will have to be enough.

Ron was clearly hoping that the news of the trade would give them a lift, but the game ends up feeling anticlimactic. Their offense is still AWOL, Nabby can't bail them out, and the losing streak climbs to ten. They get on the plane, and Pat closes his eyes and tries to get some sleep.

  

"Hey, welcome to the team," Pat says. 

Joe smiles and shakes Pat's outstretched hand. His grip is strong and warm. "Thanks," he says. He draws another breath, as if he might be planning to say more, but the other guys are waiting to greet him too, and he only nods and moves on.

  

Joe's actual presence seems to galvanize the team at last. He gets a good look against the Sabres just a few seconds in, though his shot rings off the post, and from there on they never look back. 

In the second period, Joe and Pat go out on the power play together. Pat gets Joe the puck, Joe sends it neatly over to Cheech, and just like that their names go on the scoresheet, side by side. 

_All right,_ Pat thinks. It wasn't like he thought they couldn't play well together. But it's something else to have it confirmed on the ice. If it wasn't for Nabby getting hurt, this game would feel like the biggest relief Pat's had in a month.

  

They get off to a shakier start during the first period in Toronto, but recover and pull back in front during the second. Pat gets the puck from Joe during another power play, and though Pat's first shot is stopped, he manages to get to the rebound himself and put that into the net. Joe skates over and flings his arms around Pat. The pressure of his body is blunted by their layers of pads. Pat breathes in deep and keeps grinning. 

  

Their first practice back in San Jose is much more upbeat than the last few, even if Nabby is still day-to-day. Pat's wrung out by the end of it, but it's a good kind of tired, the feeling of having put his all into the work.

When he gets out of the shower, he finds Joe lingering by his stall.

"Hey," Joe says. "I kind of wanted to talk to you a little bit. You got time for that after this?"

Part of Pat is aching to hear what Joe has to say, and part of him doesn't want to hear it at all. As Joe's new captain, he tells himself, he owes it to Joe to be available to help get him settled. Even if Pat suspects that it's not really team business that Joe wants to talk about.

"Uh, sure," Pat says. "We could go get something to eat?"

"Great. Let me just tell Scotty."

"I can drop you back at his place after," Pat offers. Joe doesn't have a car here yet, so it's only polite.

Joe flashes him a grin. "Thanks."

  

They chat a little while they're getting their sandwiches, mostly about the logistics of Joe's move and what he's going to do about his place back in Boston. He shuts down any topics related directly to the Bruins, and while Pat knows Joe should face those questions at some point, it doesn't seem like the time to push him right now.

Joe waits until they're nearly done eating. Then he clears his throat. "So I just wanted to ask," he says, "like, so far so good, and all, but- are we cool?"

Pat bites his lip. "Of course," he says. "We're good."

Joe looks at him. "No, I mean, like, really. Because I kind of feel like- you know, that morning was so crazy, when I woke up we were already late, and then the whole circus kicked in and everything just went nuts, you know..."

Pat does know. The flashbulbs, the microphones, the complete lack of surprise when the Bruins took Joe first, and the stunned feeling of hearing his own name called. The brief minutes alone in the ready room, when Pat was too tongue-tied to string any words together. And then the inexorable course of the season slingshotting them into different conferences on opposite coasts.

"It was a long time ago," Pat says. 

"Yeah," Joe says. "I guess I just wanted to see if we still need to, like, clear the air or anything. Now that we're going to be playing together."

Annoyance spikes in Pat's chest. "Don't worry. You weren't great enough to still be hung up on eight years later."

He regrets saying that immediately; it betrays its own bitterness, and is about diametrically opposed to the professional and captainly courtesy he'd meant to preserve. But Joe only laughs.

"Fair enough," he says. "I have improved since then, though."

His eyes and his mouth are bright with amusement, and the line of his throat is long and clean.

Pat opens his mouth and says, "Prove it."

Joe's eyebrows go up. Then his face breaks into a real smile.

  

"Fuck," Pat hisses. He's trying to kick his front door closed and shrug out of his coat and toe off his shoes all at the same time, and he's not succeeding at any of them because Joe has both hands cupping Pat's face to hold Pat's mouth to his. Pat opens his mouth to Joe's tongue and can't keep back a moan.

He resurfaces with one shoe off and his shirt pulled loose, Joe's hands sliding up his back underneath it. Joe drops his forehead to Pat's shoulder for a few breaths. 

"I swear I can be more smooth than this," he says.

"I don't care," Pat says. "Can we just-"

They stumble their way into Pat's bedroom. Pat pulls Joe down onto the bed, and then he guesses Joe really has developed some moves, because before he knows it, he finds himself on his back with Joe between his legs, mouthing at his dick. "Please-" he gets out, "please, Joe," and Joe takes him in.

Joe pauses just long enough to wet his own fingers. Then he's pressing and rubbing at Pat's hole while he swallows him down again, and that's definitely new since last time too. Pat paws a little at Joe's hair, but Joe twitches his head away, so Pat clenches his hands into the sheets instead while Joe's fingers move inside him. Joe has the rhythm down, Pat strung helpless between his hands and his mouth. Pat shifts and sighs and groans, feeling the final rush build, and then he cries out while he's coming down Joe's throat.

Pat hasn't had a huge number of opportunities, but he has learned some things himself over the years. He gets Joe to move up to straddle Pat's shoulders and feed his dick into Pat's mouth. Joe throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut. 

Pat brings his hands up to rub over Joe's thighs and his ass. The lube is out of reach somewhere in the sheets, so Pat doesn't try anything else, just keeps his jaw loose for Joe's thrusts and sucks when he can. Joe's breaths get harsher and shorter, and finally his come floods Pat's mouth. 

It's hard to swallow in this position, so Pat lets some slide right back out, coughing a little as Joe pulls back. Joe grins and wipes at Pat's chin with his fingers, and then, more effectively, with a corner of the sheet. He shifts to the side, leaning in for a few more kisses and then stretching out on his back next to Pat. 

"You know what," Joe says, "I think I'm going to like it here."

Pat laughs. "I hope so," he says. "I hope so."


End file.
